


to have and to protect

by antikytheras



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Getting Together, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Sexual Tension, Work Parties, this is the horniest thing i've written in my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22922050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antikytheras/pseuds/antikytheras
Summary: Raihan looks very good in his new suit. Unfortunately, Leon isn't the only one who notices.Raihan laughs with an extremely pleasant smile that manages to reach his eyes. That damned suit is starting to get the slightest bit rumpled, but paired with Raihan’s charm turned up to eleven, Leon wants nothing more than to curl his fist into the fabric and—He blinks.And then what?
Relationships: Dande | Leon/Kibana | Raihan
Comments: 16
Kudos: 255





	to have and to protect

Raihan stares at the letter that’s been thrust into his hand. The envelope is made of some thick, smooth, expensive-looking paper, and there’s an authentic wax seal holding it shut in the very centre. ‘What do you mean, Gym Leader inauguration ceremony?’

Leon looks up from his office desk with a frown. He’s dressed in his flashy Battle Tower outfit, and not for the first time, Raihan feels woefully underdressed standing in front of him. 

Leon leans forward and rests his weight on his folded arms. Raihan makes a point of not looking at how the fabric wraps tight around his biceps. ‘When new Gym Leaders assume their positions— like when Bea did, recently— there’s a commemoration ceremony to allow the sponsors and the new Gym Leaders to mingle. You know, that party thing.’

The two of them are gathered in Leon’s office in the Battle Tower. Raihan had received a text from Leon asking to meet, and he had hailed the nearest Flying Taxi to Wyndon only to have that fancy envelope shoved in his hand by a very-serious Leon the second he’d walked in through the door.

While Raihan makes a seat out of the corner of Leon’s desk, Leon continues to explain, ‘This year, we have two new Gym Leaders, and they’re both still kids. So I thought it’d be best if the Battle Tower was in charge of planning and organising the event.’

Raihan picks up one of the invitation letters still sitting in a stack at a corner of Leon’s desk and begins to skim through it. On one side is a page listing all the invited sponsors. He recognises some of the names— many of them had been horrendously persistent in attempting to corner the newest Gym Leader last year, all hoping to wheedle some kind of sponsorship or marketing deal before the kid had even had the time to remember their names or faces.

Luckily, Raihan had been able to squeeze in and distract most of the sponsors with some small talk, or, in one memorable instance, by physically inserting himself between a particularly over-eager sponsor and the extremely-overwhelmed kid. Bea had been doing a commendable job in keeping her discomfort from showing on her face, but when Raihan had intervened, he’d heard the faintest sigh of relief, and something that sounded suspiciously close to a “thank you”.

He remembers Leon’s stormy expression that night. Raihan wouldn’t be surprised if Leon had seen some bits of his younger self in the poor girl. When it comes to the sponsors, Leon has always been protective of the younger Gym Leaders, if only to afford them some of the freedom and adolescence that neither Leon nor Raihan had been able to save for themselves.

In the present, Leon’s voice breaks through Raihan’s idle musings. ‘There’s something I’d like the Gym Leaders to help out with.’

‘Yeah,’ Raihan glances back over his shoulder with a sly grin. ‘You want us on babysitting duty, right? Leave it to us.’

The frown lines remain etched on Leon’s face, but some of the tension does leave his shoulders. ‘You catch on quick.’

Raihan doesn’t dwell on how the shade of approval in Leon’s golden eyes is tying his stomach into all sorts of knots. Instead, he turns back to read through the bottom half of the list, which contains names he only recognises because of Leon. ‘You’re inviting quite a lot of companies, huh. Who are the others coming, besides the Gym sponsors?’

Leon stares at his own copy of the letter. ‘For the longest time, those companies have been saying that they want more opportunities to network with the Battle Tower Trainers and Gym Leaders and the like. It’d be troublesome to decide and justify who gets an invite and who doesn’t, so I invited them all.’

Raihan frowns. ‘But if you do that, then the main target at the event will be…’

Leon isn’t listening. He’s going through the list of names in the letter, too absorbed in his thoughts, probably caught up in planning ahead for the event. When the silence stretches for too long, he looks up and blinks at Raihan. ‘Hm?’

Raihan doesn’t hold his gaze. ‘Nevermind,’ he says, ‘it’s nothing.’

On the day of the event, Leon and Raihan are one of the first to arrive.

The Rose of the Rondelands has a large ballroom made just for large-scale public events, like the one hosted by the Battle Tower tonight. Massive, regal glass-paned double doors line the wall by the entrance, and there are a pair of heavy-looking floor-to-ceiling-length curtains neatly tucked aside each one. Hundreds of round tables, all covered with perfectly-ironed, creaseless white tablecloths, take up most of the space in the room. There is a stage at the very front, for performers or, in their case, event emcees to address the inevitable massive crowds.

It’s more than fancy enough to complement all the businesspeople in their suits. For once, Leon isn’t overdressed, even with the cravat around his neck. The setting is perfect, as it should be, considering that _he_ ’s the one who’d organised this whole event.

Raihan looks around appreciatively. ‘The renovations have really changed the feel of this place, huh.’

Leon also scans the room, albeit with less casual intentions in mind. The event starts about an hour from now, so there are only a few guests milling around. Once he’s sure that none of the Gym Leaders are present, he relaxes. ‘The hotel’s been around for a while, so to keep up their image, it appears they’ve been stepping up efforts to improve even the areas that are open to the public.’

Before Raihan can say anything in return, Leon turns to him, unable to contain the scowl that crosses his face. ‘By the way, this is the first time I’ve seen you in that suit. When did you get that?’

‘Oh, this?’ Raihan puffs out his chest. He's wearing a grey striped suit today, complete with matching trousers, but at some point he had abandoned all pretense of formality and slung his outer jacket around his shoulders like a cape. It doesn't look sloppy, not when he's got a well-fitted black vest wrapping round his broad shoulders and tapered waist. He's even bothered to style his hair properly today, although some stray strands have escaped the messy bun and frame the sides of his face.

It's not fair. The ensemble should make Raihan stick out like a sore thumb among the prim and proper company representatives, but there's something about the playful slant in his grin that completes the look effortlessly.

Raihan is talking. Leon vaguely remembers to pay attention with something other than his eyes and the strange-hunger gnashing in the pit of his stomach. ‘I bought it after a photoshoot last week. I even got the stylist to teach me how to style the look. Doesn’t it look great?’

Raihan looks awfully pleased with himself, but Leon folds his arms and glares up at him. Curse the man’s height. ‘It looks _too_ good. What are you going to do if it attracts the wrong kind of attention?’

Incredulity washes the pleased look off Raihan’s face. ‘Nothing, because there’s no reason that kind of thing’s gonna happen.’

Before Leon can shoot back a retort, Raihan’s already walking away with his hands in his pockets. Leon stares at his broad shoulders. The jacket hugs them snugly. _Too_ snugly.

‘C’mon, let’s go. The kids are waiting.’

‘Hey, I’m serious—’

Raihan keeps walking.

‘Raihan!’

And then he disappears into the crowd, without ever once turning back.

Leon stares after him, left with only the haunting, traitorous question of what the handsome Dragon Tamer would look like with a bite-mark on the side of his neck.

The whole thing goes off swimmingly, of course.

Bede arrives first with Marnie and Victor, all three looking incredibly uncomfortable to be in formal wear and surrounded by greedy, opportunistic adults. Raihan easily swoops in and takes them under his wing, answering loaded questions and deflecting flattery with practiced poise-and-charm.

Soon enough, the rest of the Gym Leaders arrive. In one corner of the room, Piers, dressed in a smart waistcoat but wearing the same porcupine-like hairstyle as always, skulks between his precious sister and two rival company representatives. Opal, seated at a table, keeps one eye on her successor like a hawk, and just like that, Bede has all the protection he needs to relax and gorge himself on all the sweets available. Even Bea has a tiny smile on her face as she holds on to Milo’s arm, engrossed in conversation with the Grass-type leader.

Raihan observes it all from a distance, like a general reading the battlefield. Marnie and Bede will be safe for the rest of the night, thanks to Piers and Opal, but Bea’s not the best at dodging questions. The second Milo leaves her side, he’ll have to dive in quickly.

‘How’s it going?’ says a voice in the background.

Raihan almost turns instinctively, but then there’s a smooth, rich voice speaking in reply. It sounds like it belongs to a young man. ‘No good, all of them are so heavily guarded. Oh yes, did you see? The Galar Foods representative went to find Leon. She’s quite the heavy-handed type, I hear.’

Raihan stills and starts listening a little more closely.

The first voice sighs. Raihan can imagine him shaking his head. ‘When I spoke to him, he refused to drink. Said he was going to have an early day tomorrow. But if it’s that lady from Galar Foods, I doubt even he’d be able to say no, the poor thing.’

With that, Raihan turns his back on one battlefield and leaves for the next.

These parties, Leon thinks, are painful, obnoxious, and a complete waste of everyone's time.

He’s been bombarded by sponsor after sponsor, company representative after company representative, all hoping to curry favour with him and secure some deal or another with the newly-established Battle Tower. He hasn’t even had the time to _wonder_ how the Gym Leaders are doing, but knowing that Raihan is there is reassuring enough for him to shove that particular concern aside so he can deal with his own.

'Ah, Leon, there you are!'

Oh great, here it comes.

Leon grits his teeth, but the disturbance only flits over his face for a second before settling into the curves of his lips, now a warm, glassy smile.

'Director! I was wondering where you were in the crowd,' Leon chuckles. The sound is hollow, but only to his own ears, it would seem.

The diminutive director of Galar Foods covers her mouth when she laughs. Her skin is flawless, though Leon knows she is nearing seventy. Her white hair, pinned neatly into a bun, reflects the lights of the sparkling chandeliers overhead.

His attention snaps back when the director simpers, 'Oh, Leon, I was merely hoping to give you my congratulations! Your exhibition match the other day was simply wonderful! My granddaughter loved it.' At times like this, Leon could almost see her as a harmless, adoring fan.

He smiles. The cravat around his neck is far too tight, and the bronze button decorations sewn into the front of his coat are digging into his collarbones. 'Thank you.'

'Here, a toast to the Battle Tower!' she cries, raising her glass with one hand while waving down an impeccably dressed waiter with the other. 'You there, can't you see this man doesn’t have a glass?'

Leon carefully tucks his grimace into the corners of his upturned lips. The waiter’s tray has a few empty wineglasses, along with a full bottle of wine.

The director continues, 'Be a good man and pour him one, won't you?'

He has an eight am meeting tomorrow, and it is already a quarter past ten tonight. 'Oh, no, it's quite alright—'

'Nonsense, nonsense!' she cries, thrusting an empty wineglass into his hand and snatching the bottle out of the surprised waiter's hands with surprising speed for such a small, elderly person. 'We must celebrate the success of the Battle Tower!'

He watches with muted horror as she pours an extremely generous amount of deep red alcohol into his glass, her grip wobbling so precariously after five seconds that he has no choice but to tilt the mouth of his glass to catch every last droplet her hands seem set on wringing from the neck of the poor bottle.

Leon firmly smothers the grimace threatening to ruin the perfect curves of his gentle smile. 'Oh, I suppose...'

The instance he politely brings the too-full glass to his lips, the director begins to explain, beaming, 'Actually, to be honest, I was hoping to speak to you about the ad placement for our promotion with the Battle Tower... You see, we really believe it would be much better for the local economy if—'

'Why, if it isn't Galar Foods! Thank you for all the wonderful support over the years!'

There's no way for Leon to kill the shock that must be flaring impossibly bright and white-hot in the wideness of his eyes. Luckily, the director of Galar Foods is even more surprised at the sudden intrusion, and she whips around to face the owner of the voice sauntering in from their left.

Her recovery is flawless, albeit genuine. 'Raihan! My goodness, there you are! I saw your match yesterday, of course. As masterful as always.'

Raihan laughs with an extremely pleasant smile that manages to reach his eyes. ‘Really? Thank you very much.’ That damned suit is starting to get the slightest bit rumpled, but paired with Raihan’s charm turned up to eleven, Leon wants nothing more than to curl his fist into the fabric and—

He blinks.

And then what?

He swallows the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. It settles in his stomach uncomfortably, roiling and churning and yearning to be released.

Thankfully, Raihan starts speaking again, so Leon doesn’t have to dwell on the strange turn of his thoughts. 'If anything, it's my honour to be able to speak with you today, director. I can't imagine many have the chance to be graced with your time and attention.'

The septuagenarian giggles like a schoolgirl. Leon watches blankly. What is he thinking?

'If it's alright with you, could we perhaps take a photo together? It won't go on my social media, of course.' Raihan winks.

The director falls for it hook, bait and sinker. What exactly Raihan's fishing for remains to be seen.

'Here, hold this.' Raihan doesn't even look at him when he pushes his wineglass into Leon's unprotesting free hand. Their fingers brush, and electricity zips straight through him, down his spine and into the strange warm pool in his stomach.

Leon quashes it and watches, amused, as Raihan lines up the perfect shot with his phone and bends down to fit into the same frame as the tiny director of the largest food and beverage conglomerate in Galar.

Raihan shows her the photo, and she immediately becomes absorbed in it. 'Oh, my niece would never believe this!' she titters excitedly. 'If it's not too much trouble, could you also send the photograph to me?'

'It would be my pleasure,' Raihan says as he makes a show of absentmindedly reaching for Leon's wineglass.

'That one's mine,' Leon murmurs, staring straight ahead.

He doesn’t expect Raihan to lean in close, lips just barely pressed against the shell of his ear. His heart is _this_ close to hammering right out of his chest, but somehow, it seems that Raihan doesn’t hear a thing.

'I know.' The mock playfulness is gone from his voice. 'Mine's got the grape juice for the kids. You've got an early day tomorrow, yeah? Make it last the rest of tonight.'

And just like that, both the unwelcome glass of wine and very welcome warmth against his ear are gone.

Raihan throws back the offending glass of wine like it's, well, grape juice. Leon is always impressed with his tolerance, which is why he's staring at Raihan's slender throat as he swallows. His pink tongue darts out to catch a stray red droplet clinging to the corner of his lips. Were they always this plump? Thankfully, Raihan isn't paying attention to him, so Leon doesn't have to bother pretending to look elsewhere.

'Well, director, I've interrupted your little chat long enough. I'll be taking my leave now.'

Leon manages to blurt out a, ‘Raihan—'

The attractive bastard turns back with one finger pressed against his lips and winks. Then he waves and slinks into the crowd, his messy little ponytail bobbing above the sea of faces like a lifebuoy in the ocean.

The director sighs, absolutely smitten. ‘Oh my. He certainly is as dashing as the rumours say.’

The very idea of _Leon_ having fallen for one of Raihan’s tricks is so absurd that he can’t help the unimpressed look that crosses his face when he flatly agrees, ‘He is quite the gentleman.’

And how appropriate that word is. It’s true that Raihan’s always been good at looking out for those around him, but it’s precisely because of that external vigilance that he’s always been terrible at noticing unsavoury intentions aimed toward himself.

And then the director’s talking again, and he doesn’t dwell on the thought any further.

He takes a sip from Raihan's glass. How strange. The grape juice is making him feel rather warm inside.

Leon excuses himself to the bathroom, and _of course_ that’s how he gets horrifically lost for the better part of thirty minutes.

Thankfully, at the end of those thirty minutes, Piers miraculously rounds the next corner and calls to him with a scowl. ‘Leon!’

Leon breathes a sigh of relief. ‘Piers!’

Piers looks exceptionally cross. ‘Seriously, where have you been? I’ve been searching for you for ages.’

Leon binks. ‘I went to the bathroom and couldn’t figure out how to get back. What’s wrong? You’re awfully upset about something.’

Piers shakes his head, muttering something about how it should be impossible for anyone to get lost in a hotel. ‘I’ll accompany you as far as the ballroom. Raihan’s missing, no one’s spotted him in a long while. Too long.’ His stride is as brisk as his words. He’s worried, Leon realises.

He breaks into a light jog to keep up with Piers’s pace. ‘Raihan’s missing?’

Piers doesn’t turn back when he replies, ‘Yeah. He’s been spending all night sticking to the kids and bearing the brunt of those slimy business tricks, and I assume,’ here he gives Leon an unreadable side-eye, ‘he’s been looking out for you too. He’s good with alcohol, but not good enough to be completely sober after drinking that much.’

Leon’s stomach turns. All sorts of ugly what-ifs start to rear their heads. Now that he’s out of the buzz of the ballroom, there’s little to distract him from the monster roaring in the pit of his chest, demanding for him to go to Raihan, _right now_.

Piers doesn’t speak again until the entrance to the ballroom comes into sight. ‘I’ll go keep an eye on Marnie and the others, so please go and find Raihan.’

Leon doesn’t need to be told twice.

‘Here, Raihan. Please, take some water.’

The voice is so familiar. It’s smooth and rich. Raihan vaguely registers a bottle being pushed into his hand.

He looks up. The room is spinning, but only ever-so-slightly. His head feels just a tad too light for his shoulders, and he’s glad for the relative darkness of the room the owner of the voice has brought him to. ‘Ah—’ His throat is dry, but when he tries to speak again, he finds his mouth cooperating. ‘Ah, thank you very much.’

The man speaks, and Raihan has to focus to look at him. ‘I’m rather pleasantly surprised. I suppose even you get drunk sometimes, huh? We’ve met so many times at all those parties, but this is the first time I’ve seen you like this.’

Raihan brings the bottle to his lips, only to realise, belatedly, that he should be twisting the cap off. He’s sitting on a low bench. The man had brought him here. His head had been so light and strange, and the world had been spinning, but his legs could still be convinced to move in the general direction of “forward” and so he’d tried to make his way out the ballroom, only to crash right into this man’s arms and lose all control of his legs.

The man had been kind enough to hold him upright, and steady him, and bring him to a small, discreet rest area so that he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of any more important business people.

He feels so warm. He can feel his back slick with sweat, but though the coolness of the room steals away the warmth, the warmness covers him all over like a perfectly-fitted blanket.

Raihan hears his own voice float into his ears, like he’s shouting from the wrong end of a big swimming pool. ‘I’m quite mortified to have inconvenienced you like this. I think my legs are just tired, once I rest a little I should…’

He trails off, eyes widening in shock.

While he’d been trying to remember how to speak coherently and politely, the man had taken a seat right next to him, close enough for their legs to press together.

Deliberately, the man places a hand on Raihan’s thigh.

Raihan can’t bring himself to move, or to say anything. His head won’t stop spinning, this was the last thing he’d expected—

A memory surfaces, so distant but so clear.

_‘What are you going to do if it attracts the wrong kind of attention?’_

_Raihan had scoffed and turned away, if only so Leon wouldn’t see the heat rising in his cheeks. There had been an intense, possessive look in his eyes, but Raihan had been sure it was nothing more than a trick of the light._

_The answer to that question is this: he would have nothing to worry about, because he would have Leon by his side, but right now—_

The man is speaking. ‘I’m so happy to have the chance to speak with you like this.’

The hand inches further up his thigh. It sends unpleasant shivers up his spine.

The man continues, ‘You see, I’ve been wanting to get to know you better.’

Raihan fights the strange fog in his mind to look at the man, but he seems to take that as an invitation to lean in. He’s just a little shorter than Raihan, but even that looks so wrong.

_Leon had been scowling so beautifully. ‘This is the first time I’ve seen you in that suit. When did you get that?’_

_If Raihan were a peacock, he’d be strutting. He’d never been more thankful for all the height he’d been given, if only because it gave him the perfect angle to enjoy the heat of Leon’s glare, especially now that he’d finally gotten rid of that damned baseball cap._

Fuck, he’s so drunk.

‘How about it?’ The man murmurs, smiling up at him. He looks hungry, yes, but it’s not the same kind of hunger Raihan’s starting to realise he’s gotten far-too-used to. ‘If you’d like, we could retire to my room for a little break.’

The man is close, far too close. Raihan can see each of the man’s individual eyelashes, and he’s still leaning in closer, inch by inch while his fingers start to rub circles into Raihan’s inner thigh.

He can’t think. The world keeps spinning. He swallows. ‘I, that’s…’

Leon isn’t sure if he’s happy to always win all their arguments anymore.

He flits around the ballroom, just-barely holding onto his veneer of polite affability, beneath which he can practically feel the lightning crackling in the storm building in his veins. When he asks if anyone’s seen the tall, lanky Dragon-type Gym Leader, all he gets is empty compliments on how fashionable Raihan had looked today, and oh yes we were all _dying_ to take photographs together, would it be too much to ask for another with _the_ great Leon—

Someone tugs at his sleeve. It’s too hesitant and informal to be from someone unwanted, so Leon turns with a real frown on his face.

Bea looks up at him. She’s wearing a dark blue shawl wrapped around a simple white dress, like a noble lady’s dress-up doll. Her expression is as serious as always. ‘He collapsed. I saw a man take him away.’

Something unpleasant creeps into his throat. He doesn’t realise that he’s clenching his fists until Bea touches his hand lightly.

She doesn’t comment on his reaction. ‘I’ll take you there,’ is her quiet promise instead.

She may have been made to dress like a pretty little girl, but her grip on his arm is strong and firm. She makes the tiniest of motions to indicate if he should turn left, or right, or if he should keep moving forward. To any outsider, it would look as if he were the one guiding her, like a chaperone and his noble lady.

He’s glad for the direction after the fifth left turn. He would have gotten horrendously lost by now.

Bea abruptly stops.

Leon can see a rest area just beyond the next corner. It’s dim and poorly-lit, and if that weren’t ominous enough, there is a low murmur of one smooth, quiet voice mixed in with another faint, hesitant, but oh-so-familiar one.

Bea doesn’t look up at him when she pats his arm. ‘You can repay the favour for us all.’

Then she leaves, walking back down the dark hallways like a ghostly apparition.

When Leon turns the corner, he sees Raihan, cheeks flushed tell-tale pink. He can’t help but trace a line down the side of his neck with his eyes, where his warm brown skin has been coloured invitingly red.

But then he sees the man, sitting far-too-close, leaning in and smiling up at Raihan, one filthy hand crawling too-far-up his thigh, and the storm building up inside Leon roars in his ears, breaking wide open.

The next thing he knows, he’s grabbing the man’s wrist tight enough to snap it in two and yanking him away.

The man cries out in pain and surprise, but Leon doesn’t find himself particularly concerned with the man’s well-being.

‘Get your fucking hands off him,’ he says, calm and cold.

The man looks absolutely terrified. ‘L-Leon!? This— You’ve got it all wrong, I was just— I— Er—’

Leon releases his wrist with a glare.

The man holds both hands up in nervous surrender. ‘I was just worried about Raihan, you see, and I happened to be staying in a room here tonight, so I merely invited him to rest—’

Leon ignores his excuses. ‘Raihan, come here.’

Raihan’s giving him a hazy look. Something about the innocent surprise in his eyes and the pinkness suffusing his cheeks sates the ugly monster howling for blood in the pit of his stomach.

Before he can do anything more than take note of the feeling, Raihan complies with a quiet murmur of Leon’s name and stumbles to his feet, slumping against Leon once he reaches his side.

Leon carefully wraps an arm around Raihan’s waist, and Raihan obediently draws in close and slings an arm over Leon’s shoulder.

Before they leave, Leon turns back to utter one final warning. ‘I would thank you for your consideration, but it’s entirely unwanted.’

With that, they take their leave.

Raihan’s breath is cherry-sweet wine when he slurs, ‘Fuck, I…’

Leon ignores him. He has no problem supporting Raihan’s weight, but the drunk man’s gait is too unsteady. He’s leaning far too much into Leon. Leon wants nothing more than to bring him somewhere safe _(like his apartment, his traitorous heart suggests, and he banishes the thought)_ but he knows his duty tonight is to the younger Gym Leaders.

So he can only tighten his grip on Raihan’s slim waist. ‘Just tell me how to get back to the ballroom,’ he says.

Raihan bites his lower lip, but he takes one look at Leon’s stormy expression and offers only the direction he’s been asked to provide.

Soon enough, the grand double doors come into view, as do two familiar silhouettes.

Nessa is the first to spot them. ‘You look terrible,’ she says frankly to Raihan. Her gaze lands on Leon’s face, then on his arm wrapped around Raihan. She exchanges a look with Piers, who only rolls his eyes in reply.

Before Leon has time to question the strange interaction, Raihan detaches himself from his side and crashes onto a bench. He looks terribly queasy. ‘Probably had a little too much,’ he admits with a small laugh. It’s too light.

Leon’s side is too cold and empty now that Raihan’s no longer pressed against him. He looks at Piers. ‘Where are the others?’

For some reason, Piers is giving him a knowing look. ‘Opal and Bede left early, and Milo escorted Bea to a Flying Taxi. I’ve got Marnie and Victor seated at a table inside. They’re both pretty tired.’

Leon nods. ‘Everything fine?’

‘Just peachy.’ The shrewd look doesn’t leave his eyes. ‘I believe I’ve got things handled here. Why don’t you get Raihan home safe?’

Leon laughs. It rings hollow in his ears. ‘I’m not his caretaker.’

‘But you’re not going to let him go home like this alone.’ Piers is careful to emphasise the last word.

The image of that man’s filthy hand resting on Raihan’s thigh flashes into his mind.

‘No,’ he finds himself agreeing, ‘no I’m not.’

Piers seems to be giving Raihan some sort of encoded message in his pointed glare. ‘Since you’ve already gotten yourself this drunk, why don’t you have a nice, long talk on your way back home?’

Raihan groans and covers his ears with his hands. ‘You’re so loud,’ he complains.

The point in Piers’s glare turns steel-sharp. ‘ _Talk_ ,’ he repeats, but Raihan only groans louder.

Leon turns to Nessa with a frown. ‘Do you have any idea what they’re talking about?’

Nessa stares at him like she’s only just starting to realise exactly how stupid he is. ‘Not a clue,’ she says, obviously lying through her teeth.

He doesn’t like being the only one left out of the loop, but he keeps it in the back of his mind for later. He has more important things to watch over right now. ‘I’m sorry to leave the rest to you, but—’

Piers is already waving him off. ‘It’s fine, please just take Raihan already.’

So he does.

When he reaches out to Raihan, the man comes willingly. He fits to Leon’s side perfectly, like a jigsaw puzzle piece, pressed close enough for him to feel the faintest hint of solid muscle under the fabric of his suit.

Leon wraps an arm securely around Raihan’s waist to steady him. When he looks up, he can’t stop staring at the pink flush in Raihan’s cheeks.

‘Ready?’

Raihan closes his eyes. ‘Yeah,’ he breathes.

As they walk out of the hotel, Leon wonders if he should really send Raihan off on a Flying Taxi in his current state. He looks just about ready to pass out on the nearest horizontal surface, and Leon doesn’t even want to think about whether it’d be safe for someone as lanky as Raihan to be jostling around in a Flying Taxi carriage.

And even _if_ he made it back to Hammerlocke, would he be able to make it back to his flat? Or would he be passed out on the pavement, or, worse—

_He sees the man, sitting far-too-close, leaning in and smiling up and Raihan—_

Leon looks up at Raihan, who looks hazily back at him with half-lidded eyes.

‘You’re staying at my place.’

Raihan swallows. Leon traces the movement with his eyes.

‘Okay.’

There’s a glass of water sitting in front of Raihan.

‘Thanks,’ he croaks out. His throat is so dry. The water hits the back of his throat like rain in a desert.

He had sobered up a little, when the wind had been howling in his face on the short taxi ride from the Rose of the Rondelands to Leon’s flat. Now, with a full glass’ worth of water sitting in his stomach, he almost feels sober enough to do what Piers had been all but screaming at him to do.

Leon’s smiling at him, arms resting on the dinner table. ‘So what was that between you and Piers?’

Sometimes, he has to wonder if Leon can read minds. It would certainly explain how he’s kept his Championship title for all those years. ‘Nothing,’ he grumbles. ‘He’s just being a real git, that’s all.’

Leon tilts his head. It’s disarmingly innocent. ‘What’s this secret you can tell Piers but you can’t tell me?’

Raihan is almost glad for the alcohol fogging up his system, if only so he can blame the warmth colouring his face on it. ‘Seriously, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it.’

Leon’s smile might be sweet, but there’s something flat and sharp in his eyes when he says, ‘Alright.’

They sit in silence. At some point, Leon gets up and brings him another glass of water.

‘Feeling better?’ he asks.

‘Thanks,’ he mumbles again, accepting the glass gratefully. ‘And yeah, I think I’m pretty much sobered up.’

‘That’s good to hear.’ Leon’s apartment is shrouded in darkness, save for the lights in the living room and the kitchen. Once they had gotten in through the door, Leon had immediately guided him to a chair and busied himself fetching glasses and hanging up their jackets.

Raihan had watched him, too drunk to pretend that he was admiring him for anything but intensely personal reasons.

Raihan closes his eyes and downs the second glass of water. Maybe he isn’t that sober after all.

‘The party went off pretty well, huh.’ Leon’s settling back into the chair right across from Raihan.

Raihan relaxes. He can talk about the party, sure, that’s a safe topic. ‘Yeah, managed to keep the awful sponsors from everyone.’

‘Not everyone,’ Leon says, staring right into Raihan’s eyes with his own golden, intense gaze.

Raihan swallows. ‘Well, you know, it’s really the kids who needed watching over—’

‘Why won’t you look out for yourself too?’ Leon demands.

Raihan notices, belatedly, that he’s crumpling the fabric of his own grey-striped trousers with his fingers, fist clenched tight enough to leave some terrible creases. He forces his grip to relax.

‘It would have been fine—’

‘I don’t want to see anyone touch you like that ever again,’ Leon says quietly.

Raihan hates how Leon’s gaze is always so steady and unyielding, how he can’t look away without feeling like he’s lost another one of their battles. But Leon always wins, and his sure, cocky confidence is just the mark of a man who has never once had to study the art of losing.

Still, he tries to laugh it off. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s not exactly an everyday occurrence—’

‘I’m serious.’

Raihan looks at the glass. It’s half-full. ‘Do you know what you’re saying?’

Leon watches Raihan avoid his eyes. He’s gotten enough hints throughout the night to know that the ruddiness in his cheeks isn’t just a side effect of the alcohol.

‘Yes,’ Leon says, because he’s wanted and waited for Raihan for years and years.

He gets up, feeling the weight of Raihan’s nervous, tentative gaze trace his steps from one side of the table to the other.

Once he reaches Raihan’s side, he looks down to see the only man worthy of being his rival looking up at him with softly-parted lips and the warmth of his kitchen lights dancing in his eyes. ‘I want you to be mine.’

Raihan looks up with his heart hammering in his chest. All he can see is Leon, his piercing golden eyes examining all his darkest secrets like sunlight at the end of a solar eclipse. Leon, stepping closer, slow and deliberate, one hand reaching to cup Raihan’s jaw. Leon, leaning in, watching for the slightest sign of resistance—

His hand stills, just a hair’s breadth away from Raihan’s cheek.

Raihan closes his eyes and meets him halfway, just like he always has, and always will. ‘And what makes you so sure I want to be yours?’

Leon smiles, stroking Raihan’s warm, smooth cheek.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’

They kiss, and the world melts away around them.

The next day, when Raihan wakes up, he is in an unfamiliar bed.

Sunlight streams in through the open window. Outside, the birds are chirping cheerily.

His head feels like it’s been submerged in a bowl of cotton wool. With a groan, he rubs at his eyes, only to find that the long-sleeved T-shirt draping over his arm is far-too-large and completely unfamiliar.

It smells like Leon.

Raihan freezes. Where are his clothes? What is he doing wearing Leon’s shirt? This can’t be Leon’s bed, Leon would never—

And with that, all of last night comes crashing back. He remembers the man with the smooth, rich voice putting a hand on his thigh. He remembers Leon, a beautiful storm of pure, cold rage. He remembers a cocky, arrogant smile sending liquid desire up his spine, an intimate moment, stolen under dim kitchen lights—

He stumbles out of the bed (king-sized, of course it’d be _king-sized_ ) and into the bathroom. There’s an extra toothbrush neatly laid out next to the sink.

Once he’s done brushing his teeth, he splashes some water onto his face, first to wash the sleep off, and then again to make sure that he’s really, _really_ not currently stuck in a very pleasant dream.

When he steps out of the bedroom, he hears the sizzle before he smells the oil and butter wafting through the air.

His stomach growls.

Leon is humming to himself as he tosses the scrambled eggs. ‘Morning.’

Raihan stares at the coffee on the table. It’s the perfect shade of brown.

He picks up the cup and takes a sip. It tastes delicious.

Raihan tries to sound casual when he says, ‘So, last night…’

Leon remains unperturbed. ‘Yeah.’

Raihan blinks. So it wasn’t a dream after all. ‘Huh.’

Overhead, the clock ticks its way to eleven. Leon must have had an empty schedule after his morning meeting.

Raihan’s head is pounding, and he downs the painkillers that have been left out next to the coffee.

He stares at Leon’s broad back for a few precious seconds before the man turns with two plates in hand.

He doesn’t want to think about why Leon knows how he likes his eggs in the morning. ‘Thanks,’ he says instead.

It’s surprising how it feels like nothing’s changed.

If anything, Leon only seems slightly more content than usual. He munches on a forkful of scrambled eggs thoughtfully, then swallows and asks:

‘So, what _did_ you tell Piers?’

Raihan chokes on the scrambled eggs. ‘I— That’s—’

‘I’m sure you can tell me.’ Leon’s eyes are warm, and Raihan realises he has no more excuse for the traitorous warmth in his own cheeks.

‘It’s _nothing_ ,’ he insists. He’s taking all those years of drunken conversations to the grave.

There is a too-knowing look in the lines of Leon’s smile, but he says nothing.

Instead, he motions to the full kettle sitting on the stove. ‘More coffee?’

Raihan accepts gratefully. The ticking of the clock is hammering tiny nails into the inside of his skull.

He closes his eyes, and the pounding fades.

‘We can go back to bed,’ Leon offers.

We.

_We._

It’s strange how just one word can make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

And that’s how he finds himself back under the still-warm covers, pressed against Leon while Leon has one arm wrapped around his waist. The sunlight shifts over them, bird-shadows flitting across their skin like butterflies.

Leon shifts ever-so-slightly, tucking Raihan’s head securely under his chin, and Raihan closes his eyes. All around him, he can feel Leon’s warmth, sheltering him the same way he’d protected Leon the night before.

It’s funny, but he thinks maybe he could spend the rest of his life like this.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/syorobao)
> 
> this was heavily inspired by [this incredible comic](https://twitter.com/iwn_com/status/1231952954946539525)
> 
> i don't write explicit stuff but you're welcome to imagine them releasing all that sexual tension


End file.
